Lore

Brickport after midnight

Nobody in Brickport remembers the first box. One night it was just there, on the corner of Lafayette and Ninth: a red crate, no label, no lock, humming a little. By morning it was empty and three people had new jackets, a pistol and a grudge.

Now they come every night. Cardboard boxes in the alleys, wooden crates behind the docks, steel boxes that take two people to carry. Every so often, a black one. And once in a long while, a box so red it looks wet. Nobody knows who drops them. Everybody knows what's inside is worth stealing.

How the city works

In Brickport you're only as rich as what you can keep. Cash in your pocket is anyone's. Cash in the bank is safe, mostly, unless somebody's carrying a Safe Cracker. A padlock buys you time. A dog buys you more. A goose buys you a lot of noise.

The streets run on hustles: licks, corner work, side jobs. They pay well until they don't, and then you're sitting in county lockup, waiting on the Bail Office or a smuggled lockpick.

Between midnight and morning the city goes quiet. Call it a curfew, call it a truce. When the sun comes up, it's open season again.

The Sweep

On the first of every month, the city sends everybody in. Stashes seized, accounts frozen, gear confiscated. Everybody walks out with the same pocket money and starts over. The only thing the Sweep can't take is your name: the knockouts, the robberies, the stars you earned. The three richest when the doors close get remembered forever.

Who you'll meet

Your story

Every server is its own Brickport: its own streets, its own crews, its own legends. Open a box. Make a name. Try to still have it on the first of the month.